Duke.
So then you hope of pardon from lord Angelo?

Clau.
The miserable have no other medicine,
But only hope:
I have hope to live, and am prepar'd to dye.

Duke.
Be absolute for death; either death, or life,
Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,14Q0103—
If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing
That none but fools would keep: a breath thou art,
Servile to all the skiey influences
That do this ^note habitation, where thou keep'st,
Hourly afflict: meerly, thou art death's fool;
For him thou labour'st by thy flight to shun,
And yet run'st toward him still: Thou art not noble;
For all the accommodations, that thou bear'st,
Are nurs'd by baseness: Thou'rt by no means valiant;
For thou dost fear the soft and tender fork
Of a poor worm: Thy best of rest is sleep;
And that thou oft provok'st; yet grosly fear'st
Thy death, which is no more: Thou art not thyself;
For thou exist'st ^note on many a thousand grains
That issue out of dust: Happy thou art not;
For what thou hast not, still thou striv'st to get;
And what thou hast, forget'st: Thou art not certain;
For thy complexion shifts to strange effects,
After the moon: If thou art rich, thou'rt poor;

For, like an ass, whose back with ingots bows,
Thou bear'st thy heavy riches but a journey,
And death unloads thee: Friend hast thou none;
For thine own bowels, which do call thee sire,
The meer effusion of thy proper loins,
Do curse the gout, serpigo ^note, and the rheum,
For ending thee no sooner: Thou hast nor youth, nor age;
But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep,
Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth
Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms
Of palsy'd eld; and when thou art old, and rich,
Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty,
To make thy riches pleasant. What's in ^note this,
That bears the name of life? Yet in this life
Lye hid more thousand deaths: yet death we fear,
That makes these odds all even.

Clau.
I humbly thank you.
To sue to live, I find, I seek to dye;
And, seeking death, find life: Let it come on.

Isab. [within]
What, ho! Peace here; grace, and good company!

Prov.
Who's there? Come in: the wish deserves a welcome. Enter Isabella.

Duke.
Dear sir, ere long I'll visit you again.

Clau.
Most holy sir, I thank you.

Isab.
My business is a word or two with Claudio.

Prov.
And very welcome.—Look, signior, here's your sister.

Duke.
Provost, a word with you. [drawing him aside.

Prov.
As many as you please.

Duke.
Bring me to stand14Q0104 where I may be conceal'd
Yet hear them speak. [Exeunt Duke, and Provost.

Clau.
Now, sister, what's the comfort?

Isab.
Why, as all comforts are, most good indeed:
Lord Angelo, having affairs to heaven,
Intends you for his swift embassador;
Where you shall be an everlasting ledger:
Therefore your best appointment make with speed;
To-morrow you set on.

Clau.
Is there no remedy?

Isab.
None, but such remedy, as, to save a head,
To cleave a heart in twain.

Clau.
But is there any?

Isab.
Yes, brother, you may live;
There is a devilish mercy in the judge,
If you'll implore it, that will free your life,
But fetter you 'till death.

Clau.
Perpetual durance?

Isab.
Ay, just, perpetual durance; a restraint,
Though ^note all the world's vastidity you had,
To a determin'd scope.

Clau.
But in what nature?

Isab.
In such a one, as you, consenting to't,
Would bark your honour from that trunk you bear,
And leave you naked.

Clau.
Let me know the point.

Isab.
O, I do fear thee, Claudio; and I quake,
Lest thou a feverous life should'st entertain,
And six or seven winters more respect
Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou dye?
The sense of death is most in apprehension;
And the poor beetle, that we tread upon,
In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great
As when a giant dyes.

Clau.
Why give you me this shame?

Think you I can a resolution fetch
From flowery tenderness? If I must dye,
I will encounter darkness as a bride,
And hug it in mine arms.

Isab.
There spake my brother; there my father's grave
Did utter forth a voice! Yes, thou must dye:
Thou art too noble to conserve a life
In base appliances. This outward-sainted deputy,—
Whose settl'd visage and deliberate word
Nips youth i' the head, and follies doth emmew
As falcon doth the fowl,—is yet a devil;
His filth within being cast, he would appear
A pond as deep as hell.

Clau.
The princely Angelo?

Isab.
O, 'tis the cunning livery of hell,
The damned'st ^note body to invest and cover
In princely gards! Dost thou think, Claudio,
If I would yield him my virginity,
Thou might'st be free'd?

Clau.
O heavens! it cannot be.

Isab.
Yes, he would give thee,14Q0105 for this ^note rank offence,
So to offend him still: This night's the time
That I should do what I abhor to name,
Or else thou dy'st to-morrow.

Clau.
Thou shalt not do't.

Isab.
O, were it but my life,
I'd throw it down for your deliverance
As frankly as a pin.

Clau.
Thanks, dear Isabell.

Isab.
Be ready, Claudio, for your death to-morrow.

Clau.
Yes.—Has he affections in him,
That thus can make him bite the law by the nose,

When he would 'force it? Sure, it is no sin;
Or of the deadly seven it is the least.

Isab.
Which is the least?

Clau.
If it were damnable, he, being so wise,
Why, would he for the momentary trick
Be perdurably fin'd?—O Isabell!

Isab.
What says my brother?

Clau.
Death is a fearful thing.

Isab.
And shamed life a hateful.

Clau.
Ay, but to dye,14Q0106 and go we know not where;
To lye in cold obstruction, and to rot;
This sensible warm motion to become
A kneaded clod; and the delighted spirit
To bath in fiery floods, or to reside ^note
In thrilling region of thick-ribbed ice;
To be imprison'd in the viewless winds,
And blown with restless violence round about
The pendant world; or to be worse than worst
Of those, that lawless and incertain thought,—
Imagine howling,—'tis too horrible!
The weariest and most loathed worldly life,
That age, ach, penury, and ^note imprisonment
Can lay on nature, is a paradise
To what we fear of death.

Isab.
Alas, alas!

Clau.
Sweet sister, let me live:
What sin you do to save a brother's life,
Nature dispenses with the deed so far,
That it becomes a virtue.

Isab.
O you beast!
O faithless coward! O dishonest wretch!
Wilt thou be made a man out of my vice?

Is't not a kind of incest, to take life
From thine own sister's shame? What should I think?
Heaven shield, my mother play'd my father fair!
For such a warped slip of wilderness
Ne'er issu'd from his blood. Take my defiance;
Dye; perish: might but my bending down
Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed:
I'll pray a thousand prayers for thy death,
No word to save thee.

Clau.
Nay, hear me, Isabell.

Isab.
O, fie, fie, fie!
Thy sin's not accidental, but a trade:
Mercy to thee would prove itself a bawd:
'Tis best that thou dy'st quickly. [going.

Clau.
O, hear me, Isabella. Re-enter Duke.

Duke.
Vouchsafe a word, young sister, but one word.

Isab.
What is your will?

Duke.

Might you dispense with your leisure, I would by and by have some speech with you: the satisfaction I would require is likewise your own benefit.

Isab.

I have no superfluous leisure; my stay must be stolen out of other affairs: but I will attend you a while.

Duke.

Son, I have over-hear'd ^note what hath pass'd between you and your sister. Angelo had never the purpose to corrupt her; only he hath made an assay of her virtue, to practise his judgment in the disposition of natures: she, having the truth of honour in her, hath made him that gracious denial, which he is most glad to receive: I am confessor to Angelo,

and I know this to be true; therefore prepare yourself to death: Do not falsify your ^note resolution14Q0107 with hopes that are fallible: to-morrow you must dye; go to your knees, and make ready.

Clau.

Let me ask my sister pardon. I am so out of love with life, that I will sue to be rid of it.

Duke.

Hold you there: Farewel.

Provost, a word with you.

Prov.

What's your will, father?

Duke.

That ^note now you are come, you will be gone: leave me a while with the maid; my mind promises with my habit, no loss shall touch her by my company.

Prov.

In good time.

Duke.

The hand, that hath made you fair, hath made you good: the goodness, that is cheap in beauty, makes beauty brief in goodness; but grace, being the soul of your complexion, shall keep the body of it ever fair. The assault, that Angelo hath made to you, ^note fortune hath convey'd to my understanding; and, but that frailty hath examples for his falling, I should wonder at Angelo: How will you do to content this substitute, and to save your brother?

Isab.

I am now going to resolve him: I had rather my brother dye by the law, than my son should be unlawfully born. But, o, how much is the good duke deceiv'd in Angelo! if ever he return, and I can speak to him, I will open my lips in vain, or discover his government.

Duke.

That shall not be much amiss: yet, as the

matter now stands, he will avoid your accusation; he made trial of you only. Therefore fasten your ear on my advisings; to the love I have in doing good, a remedy presents itself: I do make myself believe, that you may most uprighteously do a poor wronged lady a merited benefit; redeem your brother from the angry law; do no stain to your own gracious person; and much please the absent duke, if, peradventure, he shall ever return to have hearing of this business.

Isab.

Let me hear you speak farther: I have spirit to do any thing that appears not foul in the truth of my spirit.

Duke.

Virtue is bold,and goodness never fearful. Have you not heard speak of Mariana the sister of Frederick, the great soldier, who miscarry'd at sea?

Isab.

I have heard of the lady, and good words went with her name.

Duke.

Her should ^note this Angelo have marry'd; was affianc'd to her by oath, ^note and the nuptial appointed: between which time of the contract, and limit of the solemnity, her brother Frederick was wreck'd at sea, having in that perished vessel the dowry of his sister. But mark how heavily this befel to the poor gentlewoman: there she lost a noble and renowned brother, in his love toward her ever most kind and natural; with him the portion and sinew of her fortune, her marriage dowry; with both, her combinate husband, this well-seeming Angelo.

Isab.

Can this be so? Did Angelo so leave her?

Duke.

Left her in her tears, and dry'd not one of them with his comfort; swallow'd his vows whole, pretending, in her, discoveries of dishonour: in few, bestow'd her ^note on her own lamentation, which she yet wears for his sake; and he, a marble to her tears, ^note is washed with them, but relents not.

Isab.

What a merit were it in death, to take this poor maid from the world! What corruption in this life, that it will let this man live!—But how out of this can she avail?

Duke.

It is a rupture that you may easily heal: and the cure of it not only saves your brother, but keeps you from dishonour in doing it.

Isab.

Shew me how, good father.

Duke.

This fore-named maid hath yet in her the continuance of her first affection; his unjust unkindness, that in all reason should have quenched her love, hath, like an impediment in the current, made it more violent and unruly: Go you to Angelo; answer his requiring with a plausible obedience; agree with his demands to the point; only refer yourself to this advantage,—first, that your stay with him may not be long; that the time may have all shadow and silence in it; and the place answer to convenience: This being granted in course, now ^note follows all: we shall advise this wronged maid to stead up your appointment, go in your place; if the encounter acknowledge itself hereafter, it may compel him to her recompence: and here, by this, is your brother saved, your honour untainted, the poor Mariana advantaged, and the corrupt deputy

scaled: the maid will I frame, and make fit for his attempt. If you think well to carry this as you may, the doubleness of the benefit defends the deceit from reproof: What think you of it?

Isab.

The image of it gives me content already; and, I trust, it will grow to a most prosperous perfection.

Duke.

It lyes much in your holding up: Haste you speedily to Angelo; if for this night he intreat you to his bed, give him promise of satisfaction: I will presently to saint Luke's; there at the moated grange resides ^note this dejected Mariana: at that place call upon me; and dispatch with Angelo, that it may be quickly.

Isab.

I thank you for this comfort: Fare you well, good father.